


The Tale of the Dark at Chivela Pass

by starrystarrynight



Category: Are You Afraid of the Dark?
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-30
Updated: 2011-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:09:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrystarrynight/pseuds/starrystarrynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>16 years after the first Midnight Society, a new group rises to take their place, bringing their own stories and personalities to a very familiar fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of the Dark at Chivela Pass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ceitean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceitean/gifts).



_We're called the Midnight Society. Separately, we're very different. We go to different schools, and have different friends. But one thing draws us together: the dark._

 _Each week we gather around this fire, to share our fears and our strange and scary tales. It's what brought us together, and keeps bringing us back.  
This is a warning to all who join us: You're about to leave the comfort of light, and enter the world of the supernatural. _

It took a little longer then usual to get the meeting started that week. It had rained for days, and the wood was wet through. John -leader of the Midnight Society- was close to calling it quits when a spark finally caught, and the fire began to burn. They'd stored some dry kindling in a grocery bag, and used that to feed the hungry flames until the larger logs caught and would hold throughout the night. More then enough for a round of stories, long overdue. Freshman exams had canceled the last week's meeting, and it had been sorely missed.

As the flames began to lick higher, a sigh went up from the group. Relief, yes, but not from fear. The fire was a ritual. Necessary for the meeting to be normal. They might not need the fire-all brought flashlights for the walk to the fire circle- but it was good to have it all the same.

John sat first. He was a little on the short side, with medium length brown hair and blue eyes darkened by contacts. He had started the Midnight Society two years ago, when his father had moved to the small Pennsylvania town for his work. He'd been trolling the school's library, looking through the horror section for something interesting, and found and old note tucked in the wood paneling of the shelf.

 _The Midnight Society is coming to a close_ , it read. _This is the last year we'll all live close by, and it won't be possible to meet anymore after this summer. So we're leaving this, in the hopes that someone else will join. Three miles north of the Pinewood Park, along Skyway Drive, is the Sunflower walking path. Three hundred yards in, to the right, is an old campsite with a fire pit. Here the Midnight Society meets, to tell tales of the supernatural under the stars. The rules are simple: only meet at night, always tell a story, and never forget the fire._

 _Good Luck, and pleasant dreams,_

 _GARY, BETTY-ANNE, KIKI, FRANK, TUCKER, SAM, KIRSTEN, DAVID, STIG._  
May 20th, 1996

John took them at their word. It started with two people from his creative writing class, friends who were both interested in horror and the paranormal. And from there it grew, until seven members from five different schools met every Thursday night to share a frightening tale. Now as they all sat, John took the roll.

 

"Casey Michaels?"

 

Here!" Casey chirped, brushing blond hair frombright green eyes.

 

Casey had been the second member. An only child, she had many friendships, and adored the members of the Midnight Society; they were some some of her closests. But her stories, usually centered around the evil men do, were terrifying. Despite the group's tolerance for fear, she was never allowed to tell the last story.

 

"Brett Allen?"

 

"Yeah."

 

The oldest, Brett was quiet. He was the other member from John's creative writing class, and was as skinny as a bean pole after a growth spurt. His parents were going through a nasty divorce, and the Midnight Society was about the only thing keeping him from snapping under the tension in the house. But the normality was good for him, though he had broken away from his normal family based stories in favor for those with a more nautical theme-- his father was in the Navy.

 

"Frederico Ortega?"

 

"Presente."

 

Freddy was the fourth member, the first from a different school from John. HIs parents had immigrated from Mexico when he was nine, and he'd joined the Midnight society not long after meeting Brett; he volunteered at the public library as a Spanish tutor. Most of the boy's stories were based in Mexico, tales of what happened when the past came back to haunt you. He looked like his parents, a hand length shorter then John with dark coloring and tan skin.

"Alexander Keyson?"

 

"Present."

 

It was a given, but John asked anyway. If Freddy was there, Alexander was too, and vice versa. Alex had been blind from birth, an effect of being two months premature. The only private school student-they had a better Braille program- Alex couldn't quite make the hike unaided, and Freddy was always glad to help. He'd met John at a Lifestyles meeting- John's sister was deaf- and they'd bonded over Stephen King. Alex sat at the seat farthest from the fire-the brightness made them ache, though he couldn't see it- and rested his guide stick between long legs. White eyes made his black hair stand out more then usual, when they weren't behind glasses. His stories of things that weren't what they appeared, of whispered words and hidden meanings, were exciting and terrifying all at once.

 

"Vick Rogers?"

 

Victor Rogers III, a freshman from a school across town, drove the farthest to get to the meetings, and was sometimes late. He and Casey went to the same church, and had come two nights after Alexander. Vick's tales of treasure-and the things that guarded them- were almost more adventurous then frightening, until the treasure was opened. Relaxing in cut off shorts and a loose shirt, he looked totally at ease.

 

"Wouldn't miss it, boss man."

 

"Kaylee Smith?"

 

There was a pause before the answer. Normally technology was forbidden from the Midnight Society -it was a time for tales, not texting- but this was an exception. Two months ago, Kaylee had been diagnosed with Leukemic Sickle Cell Anemia, and was confined to a hospital. Vick and Brett had rigged two laptops with camera and microphones, so that she wouldn't miss anything. Now, the screen showed her with her head set on, dark skin stark against the hospital's white linen. But she looked excited, and alive.

 

"Loud and clear."

 

"Then I call this meeting of the Midnight Society open. Freddy, I think it's your turn to start?"

 

It was a long pause before the boy began to speak. Partly so that the words would still reach Kaylee, it was mostly for dramatic effect.The others leaned forward. Freddy's stories were always good, with a hint of spine tingle in both English words and Spanish names.  
"Most nights I tell of things far away and long ago. The Mayan legends, and Camatoz's betrayal. Of haunted pueblos, ancient haciendas, and nights when the stars are as red as blood. But tonight is different, amigos, for I have a new story."

 

Picking up a large leather bag- Casey had gone to four Renaissance festivals to find a replacement for the rotted one under the thronish chair-, Freddy tossed a handful of midnight dust onto the fire.

 

"Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, Chronicles of Personal Experience-"  
The group froze. It was rare-almost unheard of- for one of them to bring forward a personal tale. The only other one of note was Alex, who had come back from a family vacation in Florida with a terrifying story of what you really hear in seashells on a haunted beach. Brett still claimed to have nightmares about conch shells screaming harbingers of doom.

 

Freddy ignored them. "I call this....the Tale of the Darkness at Chivela Pass. This was going to be my admittance story, but it was too raw then, too soon.  
When I still lived in Camiceria with my Abuelo, my Padre was _los pastors_ , a shepard, for a town many kilometers away. But the grasslands near us were fertile, and better for the flocks, and they paid to use our land, and for mi padre to tend the flocks. We had plans then to come to America, for Papa knew he could find better work. Abuelo had no use for the money- he owned his land, and had other income besides the flock- and so Papa used it to go to school. He was to train as a vet, but could not afford to travel between _casa_ and _Cuided de Mexico_ \- Mexico City," he added, at the group's blank look, "often. So it was my job to herd the sheep into Chivela Pass in the morning, and bring them back at night.

 

"The days were long, and only when a sheep strayed could I leave my post. So remote a place was not bothered by _banditos_ , and Abuelo sent me with his shotgun for mountain lions. In summer the schools closed to allow students to help at home, so I could not even do class work. On days when the sun burned down it was almost unbearable, with no shade to protect me. It made the hours crawl by, though now I know it was better then a cloudy day.  
For on dark days, when the Tehuana winds blow, things in the pass wake from their long slumber.

 

Long ago, when Mexico was still Tenochtitlan, only the Nahua worked the Chivela Pass. It was bison they drove, traded from their brothers in modern Arizona. For a thousand years they drove their herds up the slopes to the fine meadows, for their was no better land. In time, their animals grew strong and large, until it was claimed that the pass was blessed. But that all changed.

 

"When the Spanish came, most of the Nahua perished of desise or by the sword. Those who survived were enslaved, for they had no gold for ransom and the Spanish scorned offerings of maize or meat. Their cuture gone and freedom destroyed, most would die in bondage. But a very few escaped. The trail was hard and the trek perilous, but all returned to the Chivela Pass. There they swore blood oaths that never would strangers enter their pass, so long as Tehuantepec- the god of sea and sky- protected them. But they could only come when the winds- Tehuantepec's messengers- brought the clouds from the seas.  
Abuelo believed these stories. He was far older then anyone in our pueblo, or in the others aroud ours. For we were Pueblo people, different then the land's ancestors. He never let me drive the sheep into the mountains when the winds blew, and punished me for returning after dark. I thought he was loco, crazy, until I saw the darkness myself, and felt the Nahua's revenge.

 

It happened when my grandfather left for the Shibapu ceremony, a time when the elders of all the Pueblo meet to remember the old legends and make the songs of now. As his grandson I could accompany him, but Padre was still in los Cuided, and neither Mama nor Alejandra could drive the sheep. So I stayed behind, and the first morning my grandfather was gone I drove the sheep up the slopes. Papa had sent a book for me to practice my English, and I meant to study it.

 

"That was my first mistake. I was so taken by the new book that I never heard the wind howling at the other end of the pass. Cool air came, bringing heavy clouds to the horizon. It made me a little annoyed, to think of driving the sheep back in the rain, but I didn't think beyond that. The animals were obeying, it was cooler, and the book was growing interesting.

 

"And then, I heard it. Far away, at the top of the pass, someone was screaming."

 

The entire group leaned closer, eyes wide. Freddy's stories had always left them on the edge of their seat, but this was different. The idea that this had happened, that while they had been kids in elementary school Freddy had been in such a situation was a scary thought.  
"The screams got my attention. At first I thought that someone was in trouble- people travel through the pass, and there were other herds, but then I listened. They sounded angry, and they were getting closer very fast. There were words in the screams, and my blood was icy as I recognized them. It was only then that I noticed how dark the sky was, and how fast the wind blew. I knew I was in trouble.

 

The screams were Nahua warriors, and as I looked I could see dark shapes forming on the slopes. The warriors were coming, for it was the Tehuana winds that blew past me now.

 

Panicked, I tried to heard the sheep. But it was early, and they would not leave the grass. So I fled, leaving them as I ran. The chants and screams grew closer, and when I looked back I could make out the individual shapes of warriors chasing me. They were with the shadow of the cloud, faster then I could sprint. But while Chivela Pass is long, the sheep never went in far. If Abuelo was right, the warriors could not leave. There was only 300 yards left, and I was going as fast as I could."

 

There was a long pause, and the Midnight Society held it's breath.

 

"They were faster.

 

A spear flew by me, and then I felt a terrible _doro_ , pain, across my back. One had clawed me. I screamed, and fell. Before I could rise, they were on me. Their screams-so close- scared be beyond the pain, and I closed my eyes and waited to die.  
But them, a miracle. The winds-their allies when coming from the south-changed. The clouds were torn apart slowly, revealing patchy sunlight. But it was enough to banish them away from me. I scrambled up, dizzy from blood loss and terror, and half fell the rest of the way. They gave chase when the clouds closed, but by then I was safety away.

 

Abuelo found me at night, close to the pueblo. Mama, who believed the legends, had gone to get him when I didn't return with the sun. He took me to a Nahua shama-one of the few of that culture- in a hacienda near Los Cuided. The shaman burnt sage over me, and made a balm from cactus and scrubweed. But he told Abuelo and Papa, who came to meet us, that I would never be safe in the pass again. The sunlight would not save me again. The day i could walk again we packed our things, and moved the Texas, never to return."

 

Leaning back, Freddy smiled at their shocked expressions. "Al Final."

 

"Did they, like, leave scars?" Casey's voice was soft.

 

Obligingly, Freddy pulled off his shirt. Back and chest were scored with raised, red lines. Old injuries not yet turned white, in sets of five lines each....like hand marks.

 

"Holy..." Even over the speakers, Kaylee's voice was frightened. "I thought the IV scars were bad."

 

After a heavy pause, John cleared his throat. "Um...Alex? You next?"

 

The blind boy grinned.

 

"Coward." He shifted. "I can't top Freddy's, but he did make a good point. We forget that people treasure their possessions, and are sometimes reluctant to let them go when they are gone.

 

Submitted for approval by the Midnight Society, I call this story the Tale of the Cursed Padlock......"

The End?


End file.
